


Let the Flames Begin

by Ash_Cassidy97



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Clint being his awsome self, Fish, Past Abuse, SHIELD being a jerkface, Thinking your plot through is for stupid peoples, This doesn't start off dark . . ., and everybody else., avengers will happen eventually, bad handling, sarcasm is a great defense against stupid, several draft may be nessary to capture the awsomeness of Clint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Cassidy97/pseuds/Ash_Cassidy97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I needed to reevaulate my logic. I needed to go home and rethink my life. I snorted at the thought of Obi-Wan meets mafia. I needed to rethink the thinking of using starwars quotes when getting shot at by the mafia, while standing on a tiny ledge.</p><p> </p><p>Clint Barton wasn't always the good guy. We ignore that, or most of us do. My prompt question was what made him change?</p><p>The title is from a song by Paramore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Obi-wan VS the mafia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaryAlice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryAlice/gifts).



> I wrote more but didn't have the time to type it yet.
> 
> also, you guys are complete and utter assholes. Not you specifically. The archive people in general. I got 70 hits. Nobody hit kudos.
> 
> Luck you, I have awsome freinds who allowed me to punch them and immediatly when ninja on my ass so i didn't hack the system again and kill you.
> 
>  
> 
> Gifted to MaryAlice because she hit kudos!M!M!M!!!! Fucking AMAZZING person!!!!  
> 63of you remain assholes. 6 hit kudos.
> 
> I am keeping count.
> 
> enjoy and hit the damn kudos button.

chapter 1

I needed to reevaluate my logic. I needed to go home and rethink my life. I snorted at the thought of Obi-Wan meeting the mafia. I needed to rethink the thinking of my brain using Star wars quotes when getting shot at by the mafia while standing on a ledge.

Clint, you're not supposed to shoot arrows at the mafia, especially after they hired you.

Um, that's me. (*British accent*) Barton, Clint Barton, circus freak, archer, orphan ect.

I slotted another arrow and looked behind me. Twenty-three children stood there, cold, skinny(winter in New York is no joke) and scared.

I swung around the corner and took my shot. The arrow went straight through two goons, bounced off the wall, and back through a third.

Yes, sticks kill.

A chunk of brick got taken out, a foot above my head. Fifteen men were left and they have a bazooka. A bazooka! This is freaking New York City! Why isn't SWAT swarming this place like maggots. I leave the bad guys and suddenly they start getting breaks!

Life. Needs. A. Shrink. Jesus.

A black van pulled up below me. No SWAT logo and they had the perfect position to put a bullet in my brain. I spun around the corner and killed another three goons using the same trick. Honestly, they should've learned to stay away from walls.

"Freeze, this is the Federal Police! Get down on the ground or be fired upon!"

"Fired upon." Really? I mean, they're MB( Men in Black= government Agents in my book) but middle age words are not necessary.

Okay, I like making fun of the government for no reason. They irk me.

I notched another arrow and let it fly. It hit the right side mirror, six inches from a suit's face. He followed the arrow's path back to me. I watched as his eyes flicked to me and then behind me to the kids. One goon shot two agents, blood splattering in pools over every surface. Another goon aimed the bazooka at the van.

I darted around the corner and let loose, completely loose of my awesome(beyond awesome, honestly.) I was aiming for Bazooka Goon when a bullet slamned into my shoulder and exploded by bone and muscle. I finished my shot, killing the Bazooka threat. I next flipped a knife open and then into the throat of my would be killer.

I stood there, shaking slightly. I was now standing on an open part of the rooftop. Behind me was a wall of solid brick where the kids were safe for the moment.

I tore a strip of my shirt and pressed it against my shoulder, hard. Is it normal to see so many spots? Don't answer that. It was rhetorical.

The door across from me burst open and agents pored onto the rooftop. I pulled out a another knife. They had guns. My shoulder was too busted to use my bow and it was my last knife.

This. Is. Going. To. Suck.


	2. YOUR MOTHER WAS A HAMSTER!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIELD is a bitch to deal with.

Chapter 2

Actually, it didn’t suck so much. Okay, I can’t say that with a straight face without laughing my head off. A agent had tazed me into unconscious. I’d woken up in one of those nifty interrogation rooms that every federal building came with. You know, the room that automatically comes with the smell of piss, two metal chairs,a table and mysterious stains all over? Yeah, that one.

I jerked my hand, the metal handcuff cutting into my wrist. It barely moved the other end, which was attached to the metal table. Thank somebody it wasn’t my injured shoulder that tied me to the table. My injured shoulder had been bandaged. Seriously, are you getting the fact that I’m not going anywhere fast? Unless, I dislocate my thumb and up up and away into the air vents we go. . .

The door on my injured side quickly opened and closed again, letting in a “typical” secrete agent. Is it sad that I know several types of agents? Rhetorical. He dropped a large file on the table and sat down across from me.

“You’re going to be arrested for child prostitution, murder, vandalism, accessory to murder, disturbing the peace, resisting arrest, drugs, money laundering, forgery, hacking and this is all just from this past month. . .”

I tuned him out. He smelled like waxy oranges. Food turned in my stomach, threatening to make a reappearance. I ignored it, accidentally tuning back into to catch the last of the agent’s rant on how evil I am.

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you. You don’t really need to say anything; we have several tapes of you near the kids for conviction. You have the right to an attorney, but honestly nobody is going to defend you. Do you understand these rights that wont help to defend you?”

I slammed my injured arm’s hand into his nose, jerking my hand against the metal table, hard. Blood gushed everywhere. What? The guy’s a douche that doesn’t care if I’m goodie two shoes or not. He just wants a criminal.

“Your mother was a hamster!” I screamed in Arabic. Arabic+Monty Python=good times to be had. In my defense, that was the last movie I remember seeing. Somewhere . . .  
The agent wheeled back and ran out of the room. Sorry, I should say strategic retreat, and yeah, I’ve pulled some “run like hell”s myself. Normally, however, they involve people that aren’t chain up and have major guns.

I scowled as a second “agent” entered the room. He told the guard outside to lock the door. He walked calmly over to my side of the table and gently unlocked the handcuffs.  
I did not move. This was a Trap. The agent was just waiting for me to leap up and attack him. Based on past experience, people. I rubbed my wrist, shaking it out.

The agent sat down in the chair. He dropped a duffel to the floor and pulled out an electric tazer. That explained the scent of electricity I was picking up from him, along with the smell of lemons and coffee. I subconsciously relaxed. I think he’s the guy that tazed me me before.

“My name is Phil Coulson. I am from Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”


	3. Smelling like lemons, coffee and electricity

Chapter 3  
Coulson slide a roll of bandages across the table to me. He waited patiently while I taped my wrist up. While I did so, I took in Coulson

His words had been tinged with lemons, coffee and electricity, Coulson had a baby face with brown eyes and hair. He looked at me, projecting inner calmness. He was so what you would expect of MB, until you actually looked at him.

"I'm going to ask you some questions. You will answer them honestly and openly or I will taser, again." He smirked with his freaking eyes. Yep, he was the one who knocked me out with that damn taser. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"On the scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?"

"Seven?" Pain is oh so very relative to my profession.

"When was your last Tetanus shot?"

"Um . . . possible never."

"Coulson nodded his head. He filed some paperwork. Next, he pulled out a syringe. You know . . .out of his freaking briefcase! Who does that? Answer:Phil Coulson, apparently.

"This is a Tetanus shot. Fight me and face electrocution, understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" I barked in my most sarcastic voice. It's very sarcastic.

"One "sir" will do, Barton." Coulson reached across the table and injected me with the shot. I swayed half a centimeter to the right.

"When was the last time you ate, Barton?"

"Two days ago, I think. Nobody exactly offered me food when chaining me to this table, you know."

"Make you a deal, Barton . . .I'll take you to the nearest fast food restaurant, and you will tell me about your reasons for saving those children. Is that acceptable?

"I. . . okay." Coulson smiled with his eyes at my response.

 

 

Okay, I promise that very soon I will have lyrics. Lyrics I tell you! I also did a story for Brucie and a poem for Clint. Check it out.


	4. Arby's has the best shakes

Arby's has the most awesome shakes. How did I not know this? I took another long slurp of my shake, not scowling at Coulson for once. It was very hard to scowl at someone who bought you food. That emotion was doomed to die as soon as Coulson opened his mouth to interrogate me again.

I didn't like what he was doing, in theory. Coulson was trying to get me to see him as an ally or a "good" agent. In practice . . . I had to hand it to him . . .Arby's shakes, man!

"Why are you paying special attention to me?" The agent should be doing paperwork or something, not jabbering at a hitman.

"You aim well." Coulson's calm face didn't break. He just took another bite of his sandwich. Also, insert pervy line here.

"Oh, so I'm the only one in the entire army that can shoot straight?" Trust me, gay people are every where, waiting to take over the world. No, but they are everywhere. *evil laughter*

If I could get him to believe that I'm worthless( not a jump, I assure you) then, he would pay less attention to me. Escape plan 12,050 is a go.

"You never miss, do you? The Amazing Hawkeye."

My slurping stopped. This agent had done a background check. He hadn't just walked into the interrogation room empty handed. He'd actually taken the time to find out who I was. Huh.

I put the shake own." What do you want, Agent Coulson?"

"Why did you help those children?"

"Kids don't s]deserve being raped and sold off a shady website."

Coulson nodded."Strategic Homeland Intervention Logistics Division wants you to work with them to help people. We want to make a difference by utilizing undercover skills."

"What would I be doing?"

"Missions involving infiltration, assassianation, data collection, not much different than what you have been doing. You would, however, have medical assistance, back-up, and housing. You will get a file of every mission containing why that mission is nessary and how it helps people. Do you undertsand?"

"No, why are you actually helping me?"

"We gain an asset that would otherwise be an powerful enemy of our organization. Also, you either work for us or go to prison, where you will most likely break out and then, we have to kill you."

"So I join you team thingie and don't go to jail?"

"Yes."

"Can I walk away if I don't like you guys?"

"In the beginning, yes. As your security access gets higher, however, the less likely you can leave."

I didn;t have a choice. I could join Coulson's secrete spy thing or be butt-rapped for the next judge-know-how-many years. Now, I'm all for the exploration of "Omg, I'm gay!", but . . .

"Where do I sign?" I filled out the paperwork Coulson handed me.

"Okay Barton, we are going to Texas."


	5. Setting people on Fire is a pasttime of Mine

Chapter Five- Settting poeple on fire is a hobbie of mine

1 month later

"Explain why you set an agent of superior rank, your handler to be exact, on fire, Agent Barton."

"I didn't hurt them, sir."

"Why Agent?"

Fury, Nick Fury, was a tough black guy who took no bullshit. He was the leader of SHEILD. His words smelt like leather baseballs and old spice. I felt no guilt what-so-ever bullshiting my way through this meeting.

"For educational purposes, sir." Sarcasm dripped over the last word, sticking to it like chocolate.

Fury growled at me. "Fine. You are being re-assigned to Agent Coulson. You report directly to his office."

"Yes, sir." I turned to leave.

"Barton, there ice packs in the med-center. I suggest you barrow a couple."

I left, walking down the metal hallways of SHIELD.  
* * *  
Coulson was sitting behind a desk when I entered. His office was well lit, uncluttered by nicknacks. He was doing paperwork.

"Were you good at chemistry in school?" The question startled me.  
"I-I never got that far in school." I hated to admit that I was less to Coulson. He had given me a second chance. I trusted him, he never lied to me( his words were always that nice lemon/coffee/electricity scent.)

Coulson put his pen down and looked up at me, really looked. He grabbed a book from a drawer in his desk and held it out to me. The cover read How to Blow Stuff up with Math: Pyrotechnics for Anybody by Sarah Cook.

"It talks about the math and chemical reactions in bombs, explosions and fire."

"I could hurt someone."

"I'm trusting you not to. Go ahead, take it. It's yours."

I took the book. Coulson did this thing with his lips that was almost a smilie.

Notes: Clint Barton wouldn't set somebody on fire without a good reason. I got inspired with the whole fire thing cuz A) somebody wrote that's how Clint met Phil, by setting somebody on fire without hurting them. Credit to them. B) I like fire.


	6. Why Do I need Sleep? Sleep is Evil. Oh, right.

2 days later

"Hawkeye, you have 10 seconds before that place burns up with you inside."

Foot steps chased after me as I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Hawkeye, abort mission, repeat, abort mission." Coulson was yelling through my comm.

I was on the roof, target was already dead. There was already blood blossoming from my chest over my heart.

I fell off the ledge, falling,falling, falling . . .

I fell off my bed, hitting the cold metal floor with a thunk.

I rolled to my feet, shaking and sweaty. The smell of wax orages perforated the air.

My room was like a cell. Everything was stainless metal: the single chair, the metal desk, the bed-frame, the walls, the ceiling, the floor. The only spot of color shield had given me was an army green blanket and toiletry kite. I'd been wearing "borrowed" SHIELD uniforms and sweats for the past month. The clothes were starting to wear out.

I grabbed my bow and quiver, along with my book, and practically ran from the room. I walked down the metal hallways to the gun range. The range closes after midnight. It was two hours past that. Luckily,SHEILD system didn't bother making everything hack prove.

SHEILD for all its "awesomeness" doesn't have an archery range. Yeah, that's kinda important since I use a bow. SHIELD was trying to wean me off medieval weapons. It was not working any time soon.

I started shooting at the gin range targets. They were tacked up black and white pictures of people. They popped up and back down in some twisted version of that stupid game with the ground hog and a hammer.

My arms started to ache four hours later. Blisters pierced my fingers and hands. Who needs gloves? Only pansies need gloves. My hands shook voliently at the remembered words, and the arrow was off by a millimeter.

The smell of coffee/lemons/electricity wafted over me. I stopped shooting. The lights weren't on but I could still see him.

"Coulson." I lowered my bow.

"Good senses, Barton."

"I smelled you." Please, please, please tell me I did NOT say that.

"Smell me?"

"I smell words. Sorry?" I locked my legs.

"Synesthesia, right?" Coulson's face cleared.

"Huh, what's that?" Coulson's eyes lost some of that strange light.

"Synesthesia means that you confuse senses, like smell and sight." I blinked at him dumbly. This was normal? "Synesthesia is not a disease, more like a gift." Coulson's words carried a firm tone that smelled like chocolate.

"I-I . . ."Coulson's eyebrows shot up at me. I swayed, trying to stand up-right as the room tilted. Ooooo, look at the pretty, sparkly spots.

Couslon caught me and gently lowed me to the ground. He carefully took my bow and unstrung it. He sung it and the quiver onto his back. He picked up the book about fire and gave it to me. He gently picked me up, carrying me in his arms.

"What are you doing, sir?"

"I'm taking you back to my office. It has a couch and well stocked fire aid kit."

"I'm fine." I muttered.

"If you were, you would be asleep in your own bunk. Instead, you were practicing long enough to start bleeding. Yes, Barton, you're the picture of perfect mental and physical health."

I shut up that. Besides, Coulson was warm.

Coulson eased me onto his couch and retrieved the first aid kit.

"Arms up, Barton." Coulson tugged my shirt off.

"You want my pants off too, Boss?" I leered at him.

"Do you have injuries on your legs?"

"Do you want there to be injuries?"  
"No, I don't. Keep you pants on Barton."

Coulson wiped away the blood. "Why are you helping me?"

"A) I'm you handler and you are my unofficial responsibility since I brought you in. B) I like you Barton, in a non-sexual, friend way."

Coulson finished his neat stitches. He grabbed a blanket and pulled it over me. "Sire?"

"Go to sleep, Barton."

Coulson put the kit away and went bak to paperwork. Exhaustion caught up with me and I passed out. Coulson was safer with me there, right?

Notes: Ya, Loki just smirked like a joker. Omg. Loki is the joker. Cuz, Trickster? Coulson=Batman. Lol, Gabriel from Supernatural. *Goes away, mumbling about spoon sucking brothers.* Um, there was an Inception referance in the whole "Go to sleep, Barton." I know there needs to be a Mr, but he's an agent and yeah.


End file.
